


Baptism

by RogueTranslator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Canon Universe, Caretaker Castiel (Supernatural), Come Swallowing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Facial Shaving, Facials, Grief/Mourning, Guilty Castiel (Supernatural), Guilty Sam Winchester, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Erections, Injured Sam Winchester, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 09, Praise Kink, Pre-Season/Series 10, Sam Winchester's First Time With a Man, Shaving, Shaving Cream as Lube, Touch-Starved Sam Winchester, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: Dean is dead, and it’s been months without any firm leads on the location of his body. Sam’s trying his best to carry on without him, but he’s struggling.Castiel visits him on one of his low days. He says he wants to take care of him in any way he can. Sam, with his busted-up right arm, asks him for some grooming help. Innocent enough.Maybe it’s the grief messing with his head. Maybe there’s always been something there, and it’s just now bubbling to the surface. Either way, one thing leads to another, as the old saw goes. Sam seduces his brother’s angel, and it might be exactly what both of them needed.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55
Collections: The AO3 SPN Kink Meme





	Baptism

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sam x anyone. Depilation or epilation kink. Sam gets shaved/waxed/fireplay/cream removal/epilated so that he's smooth OR shaves/etc a partner. 
> 
> Can be legs/arms/chest/back/whole body/just pubic. This could also just be a beard shaving scene a la intimate domesticity. 
> 
> Basically just the intimate act of trusting someone else with your body and getting smooth!

The bunker was hot. It was August, the doldrums of summer, and the ventilation was doing a model job of piping in the stifling air from the surface. Sam lay on top of his sheets, naked but for his boxer briefs, and was still barely cool enough to be comfortable.

Sam had been lying in the dark for a long time. Most of the morning, maybe. He hadn’t checked his phone. He felt guilt; he felt shame. He should have gotten out of bed a long time ago.

It was one of the hard days.

Well, that was relative. Every day since Dean (or his body, though Sam hated thinking of Dean as just a meatsuit) had disappeared was hard. But most days were bearable enough, as long as Sam kept to his routine. Wake up at 6. Get on the stationary bike, lift weights with his good arm. Coffee and muesli. Scour the crime reports. Follow up with the previous day’s contacts. Head out for the day to any scrap of a lead. Lore in the evening.

But there were bad days. Days when even opening his bedroom door felt like lifting the entire world on his shoulders. He’d had a few of those in a row, now, and each one felt worse than the last.

He’d find Dean. He’d find Dean if it killed him. But the months of searching were taking a toll, and sometimes he got stuck in the dark. Like now.

“Sam?”

There was the sound of Castiel’s loafers in the hallway. His pace was slightly halting, uncertain—it was a subtle enough difference that a non-hunter wouldn’t notice. But from just the cadence of his steps, Sam could tell something was off with him.

No improvement on the borrowed grace front, then.

Castiel knocked on Sam’s door. Sam cleared his throat and flicked on his lamp.

“Yeah, Cass. Come in.”

Castiel opened the door. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head.

“Hello, Sam. You’re naked.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s hot.” Sam sat up. “Besides, I’m not _naked_ naked. I’m wearing underwear.”

“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”

“Don’t apologize.” Sam swung his legs to the floor and stood. “I should’ve gotten up a long time ago.”

“I sent you a text. Saying I was coming over to check on you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I haven’t checked my phone yet today.” Sam pulled on the pair of thin running shorts he left beside his bed each night for his morning workout, though he felt foolish doing so. Castiel had always been puzzled by human modesty, and Sam was comfortable enough with him to not care that he’d given him an eyeful. He felt more exposed by the fact that he’d been lying in bed when he should’ve been up and shaking every tree for Dean.

“Any leads?” Sam said, as they walked to the kitchen. As soon as he’d gotten vertical, his stomach had grumbled.

“Unfortunately, no,” Castiel said. “No one I’ve asked in Heaven has heard anything.”

“Pretty much the same on Earth.” Sam switched on the coffeemaker. “Dean and I—we were always good at disappearing. Now I’m just on the other side of it.”

“We’ll find him, Sam.”

Sam sighed. He splashed milk into his muesli and shook his head.

“Will we?”

“Of course we will. It’s Dean.”

“I don’t know, Cass. I mean, I’ll keep looking for him, obviously I will, but….”

Castiel sat down across from him at the table. He clasped his hands together and peered at Sam.

“Sam, what’s the matter?”

“It’s just—months of no trace. Hunting for him by myself, day after day. It’s wearing me down.”

“I wish I could join you,” Castiel said. “If I were stronger—”

“No, Cass.” Sam stirred his bowl. “It’s fine. You need to save your strength until you can find a way to get your grace back.”

“ _If_ there’s a way,” Castiel said glumly.

“There has to be.” Sam chuckled. “Man, look at us. Two rays of sunshine.”

“Well, we’ve been through a lot. I think we’re entitled.”

Sam poured his coffee and finished his muesli. He summarized the last week and a half of jack squat in his search, and Castiel listened patiently.

“Your arm,” Castiel said. “Does it trouble you?”

“I’m getting used to it. Using my left hand for everything’s getting easier. Doctors say I still have at least a month of wearing this.”

“I wish you’d let me heal you.”

“No, Cass. I already told you, you need to save your strength. I’m fine.”

Castiel shrugged. “I just want to be of some use. I feel like I haven’t lifted a finger to help you find Dean.”

He’d always been like this; even when they’d been on opposite sides, Castiel had believed he was protecting Sam and Dean. _Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters._

“Tell you what,” Sam said. “There’s something you could do to help. I really need a shave.”

“A shave?”

“Yeah. I get it done when I can fit a barber into one of my trips, but other than that, I’ve just been letting it grow.”

“Ah. I was going to say, you look more disheveled than usual.”

Sam snorted. “Thanks, Cass. Yeah, I tried shaving with my left hand at first, but I kept leaving uneven patches. Not to mention nicking myself. I sort of decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, but with this heat, I really want a smooth face.”

“Well, I did shave a few times when I was human. I don’t know if I was very good at it, though.”

“I’m sure you did fine. So, you’d be up for it? It wouldn’t be weird?”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re an angel of the Lord and I’m asking you to shave my beard. It’s a little beneath you.”

Castiel shook his head. “Sam, I have the greatest of affection for you and your brother. I’m honored that you trust me to do it.”

“I trust you with my life, Cass.” Sam placed his dirty dishes in the sink. “Bathroom?”

* * *

“Okay.” Sam lined up the face wash, shaving cream, razor, and aftershave on the vanity. “Maybe you already know all this, but what I do is clean my face, dry off, put on the shaving cream, shave with the grain, rinse, then rub on aftershave.”

“I understand.”

Sam squared up to the mirror. Castiel looked up at him from behind.

“Can you reach?” Sam said.

“I think so. I’ll bend you over if I can’t.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Bend down. You’ll ask me to bend down.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “Isn’t that what I said, in essence?”

“You said you’d bend me over. That means…something else.”

They stared at each other in the mirror, Sam’s neck going redder by the second. Part of Sam wanted Castiel to ask the obvious next question, since that might cut through the thick welter of awkwardness and let them both laugh about it. Another part of him desperately hoped that Castiel would roll on obliviously, doing them both a mercy. All of a sudden, Sam was aware of how little clothing he was wearing, how low on his waist it was, and how close Castiel was to him.

“Um,” Sam said, after the silence had gone on for long enough. “I’ll wash my face first.”

Sam ran the faucet. He used his good hand to spread the cleanser around, then splashed warm water all over his face. Because he was working one-handed, the result was messy, and he ended up with water all over his neck, shoulders, and chest. He opened his eyes and looked at Castiel sheepishly.

“I’ll dry you.” Castiel lifted a hand towel from the stack in the linen closet.

“Thanks, Cass. You don’t realize how many little things you need both hands for until you can’t use one of them.”

Castiel stood before Sam and covered his face with the towel. His touch was firm, yet tender. He pressed along Sam’s hairline, cupped his cheeks, traced the ridges of his ears. He patted down Sam’s neck and shoulders, but hesitated at his chest.

“It’s okay.” Sam nodded. “You can touch me there.”

Castiel frowned, as if Sam had answered a different question than the one he had in his head. Nevertheless, the towel continued its course. It paused fondly over his anti-possession tattoo, lingered in the thatch of soft hair over his heart, and circled one of his nipples. Sam closed his eyes. He sighed involuntarily and pitched forward into Castiel’s hands. When he realized what he was doing, he snapped his eyes open again.

 _What the hell_ , Sam thought. He blinked in the mirror. _This is Cass._

Abruptly, Castiel tossed the towel into one of the other basins. He pulled the damp strands of hair away from Sam’s face and tucked them behind one ear, then the other, and Sam took a deep breath. When Castiel finished, he ran his fingers against the grain of Sam’s beard a few times before reaching for the shaving cream.

“Is this next?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam stepped back, cleared his throat. There was a treacherous tingling in his workout shorts, and he hoped that an extra few inches of distance would allow him to get ahold of himself.

Castiel, seemingly oblivious to the emotions roiling Sam, uncapped the shaving cream and shook the can.

“I usually just squirt it into my hand,” Sam said. “Then dab it on my face.”

Castiel smiled. “I remember. One of the other men at the homeless shelter taught me how.”

He soothed Sam’s temple, his cheek, his jaw, slathering on just enough foam to cover all the hair. His thumb rubbed a slow line over Sam’s upper lip, then under his lower one. Sam closed his eyes again. He noticed how quiet the bunker was right now, aside from the jagged rhythm of his own breathing and the sopping sounds of Castiel’s hand. How peaceful. How private.

“I’m so sorry Dean did that to you,” Sam mumbled. “If I’d had any say in it, there’s no way I’d have let him kick you out.”

“Shh.” Castiel pressed his foamy index finger to Sam’s mouth. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m fine. It’s all in the past.”

Sam opened his eyes; his face was fully lathered now. Unfortunately, all that lip touching Castiel had done had gone straight to his cock. When Castiel turned around for the razor, Sam darted a surreptitious glance to the front of his shorts. He blanched.

_I have a semi. From Cass. Cass is making me hard._

He snuck a look at the mirror; Castiel was rinsing the razor under the faucet, his back to him.

_Not only do I have a semi, but it’s impossible to hide it in these stupid shorts. Who the hell designed them? God, they’d be tiny on a normal-sized person. On me, they’re obscene._

“Sam?” Castiel said.

Sam looked up. “Huh?”

“I asked you—” Castiel’s eyes traveled down, seeking the source of Sam’s consternation. When his gaze landed on Sam’s crotch, he froze. He stared.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered.

Castiel straightened up again. If he was feeling any discomfort, he didn’t show it. “I, um—I asked you how much of your sideburns you want to keep.”

“Oh.” Ignoring the blush he felt underneath the shaving cream, he pointed at his temple. “Like, a little more than halfway down the ear? About right there?”

Castiel stepped closer and craned his neck over Sam’s shoulder to see. His breath warmed Sam’s bare skin, and Sam felt his cock jump. Literally jump.

_What the hell?_

It made some kind of tortuous sense, Sam thought. He hadn’t jacked off in over a week—he normally used his right hand, and the stress of looking for Dean killed his drive most days—and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept with anyone. What was going on here was just raw physical stimulation of a touch-starved body. At least, that was his assessment as a rational observer, a hunter.

Then there was what he felt: a thirst, a primal instinct, deep down in his animal brain. He felt Castiel’s inhumanly strong hands on him, saw his sky-blue eyes, heard his low, throaty voice—and he craved him. This wasn’t just about the nearest warm body. He was a comforting presence, yes, and they had both lost Dean, which Sam supposed bound them together even more tightly than when he’d been around. But—and this thought danced tantalizingly in the murky, devilish part of Sam’s brain that he always kept hidden away—he wanted Castiel because of what he meant to Dean.

Castiel was Dean’s. He’d always preferred Dean, sat next to Dean, talked more to Dean, said he’d given up everything for Dean. No matter what Dean did, Castiel came running back to him, and vice versa. Dean said it was brotherhood; Castiel called it friendship. Sam had long suspected it was more than that—or, more accurately, that it could one day be more, if Dean would ever let it happen.

But Dean was gone and Castiel was here. Close. So close.

“Sam!”

Sam shuddered. “What? Oh, sorry. I must have spaced out.”

Castiel had moved to the side of the vanity. The warm water was still running.

“I asked you to bend down a little. Over the sink. It’ll be easier for me to see what I’m doing.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course, Cass.”

Sam shuffled up to the sink and leaned forward, supporting himself with his free arm. The tent in his shorts flopped onto the basin’s lip, clingy black polyester against white porcelain. He looked at it sullenly. Of course the bathroom counter was too far down to offer him anywhere to hide. The world just wasn’t made for people this tall.

“Okay,” Castiel said. “Let me know if it’s too hard. Or fast.”

“What?” Sam sputtered.

“Well, I don’t want to harm you.”

Sam’s eyes widened, but he caught the glint of metal in the mirror before saying something he couldn’t walk back. “Oh. The razor. Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll go slowly.” Castiel found the line on Sam’s sideburn to start at and began shaving.

“Thanks for this, Cass,” Sam said, as he felt cool air on his first patch of bare skin. “I mean it. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I came over because I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Castiel dangled the razor in the water. “Honestly, I was a little concerned when I first saw you.”

“I—yeah. I’ve been having a rough few days.”

“We just have to keep the faith. We have to believe that Dean’s out there somewhere. That we can bring him back, no matter what.”

Castiel finished with Sam’s right cheek and rinsed the razor again.

“I know.” Sam looked down; mercifully, the shop talk was causing him to go flaccid again. “I know, Cass. And most of the time, that isn’t a problem. I mean, you know the lengths Dean and I’ve gone to for each other. Commitment isn’t the issue.”

Castiel moved to Sam’s other side. He measured the sideburn, checking it against the opposite one in the mirror.

“What’s troubling you?”

“It’s…probably a few things, honestly. It’s been months since he disappeared, and it feels like the trail just gets colder. The days, they wear on me. It’s not like I have time off or weekends. I wake up every day at six in the morning and search for Dean until ten at night. And most of all, it’s lonely here in the bunker with just me. I’m pretty self-sufficient, but—”

“But you still need companionship,” Castiel finished. “Even more so with the trauma of losing your brother.”

“Yeah. I probably sound like a whiny bitch, huh?”

Castiel washed more of Sam’s beard down the drain. “No, Sam. You sound brave, and strong, and loyal. Because you’re all those things.”

“Thanks, Cass.” Sam crinkled his eyes. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that. Try not to talk now; I’m about to do the area around your lips.”

Sam shut his mouth obediently.

“Actually.” Castiel paused. “Step back. Now that I’m done with the sides, I won’t have to reach as much if I’m right in front of you.”

“Oh—okay.” Sam stepped away from the sink, and Castiel sidled into the narrow gap between the basin and the tip of his traitorous cock.

Or was it his finally-knew-what-it-wanted cock?

Rather than continuing with his task, Castiel peered at Sam thoughtfully.

“What’s wrong?” Sam said.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Castiel began removing Sam’s moustache with careful little swipes. “I was just admiring your physique.”

Starting with the pit of his stomach and spreading outwards, Sam’s entire body tensed. He blinked rapidly, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“More precisely, I was observing how well you’ve taken care of yourself, in spite of your injury. Your muscles have hardly atrophied. Well, aside from your right arm, but that’s unavoidable.”

Castiel finished with Sam’s moustache. He traced his thumb between Sam’s nose and upper lip, checking the closeness of the shave.

 _Welp_ , Sam thought, as he felt the hot rush of blood heading south again. _That’s all she wrote. No way I can stay soft now._

“It’s much easier to do this for someone else than on myself,” Castiel said blithely, as if he weren’t inches away from Sam’s thinly concealed boner. “One side of my face was always more difficult. Handedness was a strange concept to get used to.”

He finished with Sam’s chin and twisted around to rinse off. Sam, finally able to speak again, swallowed saliva down his dry throat. His eyes, high above Castiel’s stooped figure in their reflection, shone oily black with lust.

“What’s your favorite part?” Sam said. “Of my body, I mean.”

It was like being possessed. The words had come out of his mouth, but he swore that someone else had said them. He felt weirdly weightless in his body—that was another similarity to possession.

Castiel turned around, tilted his head.

“I like every part of you equally, Sam.” He tipped Sam’s chin up with his index finger. “I’m going to do under your jaw now.”

Was Castiel really so obtuse as to not understand flirtation, even after all these years on Earth? Maybe so; he was an angel, after all. They didn’t think about temptations of the flesh. Not only that, but Castiel’s first—and as far as Sam knew, only—experience with sex had been his rape, abduction, and murder at the hands of a Reaper, back when he was at his lowest. Small wonder if he didn’t have any desire to try again.

Castiel wielded the razor delicately as he shaved the underside of Sam’s chin. Sam squinted up at the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom ceiling. No matter how much he wanted this, he had to make sure Castiel wanted it too. They’d both been violated, taken advantage of: Azazel, Meg, Lucifer, Gadreel for him; Leviathans, Naomi, Metatron, April for Castiel. Maybe they could find some succor in each other’s arms. At the very least, though, he would treat Castiel with the respect he deserved.

“Come on, Cass,” Sam coaxed. “You said you were admiring me. There must be something you noticed more than the rest.”

Sam heard the swishing of the razor in the water. He peeked down. Castiel pressed his fingertips to Sam’s neck, directing his chin up again.

“Your entire form is beautiful,” Castiel said. He scraped along Sam’s jawline. “A work of art. Just like Dean.”

 _Dean again._ Sam rolled his eyes. _Can we stop talking about Dean for ten minutes?_

He felt crushing guilt, of course, as soon as he thought that. But—and he was only now admitting it to himself—the head in his shorts had taken over a long time ago.

“I didn’t ask you about Dean,” Sam said huskily. He pushed away the razor and looked down at Castiel. “I asked what you like about me.”

Comprehension dawned over Castiel’s face. He dropped his gaze, ending up at Sam’s cock.

“You like that?” Sam murmured. “Is that your favorite part of my body?”

“Sam,” Castiel said tonelessly. He stepped back.

Sam caught Castiel’s wrist. They exchanged a glance.

“You’re almost done,” Sam said, letting his hand fall. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

Castiel leaned forward. Sam was fully hard now, straining the fabric of his boxer briefs. Castiel had to contort around the elephant in the room to reach Sam’s neck. He leaned in to clean up the few hairs left at the back of his jaw, and Sam took his chance.

“You know,” Sam whispered into Castiel’s ear. “I bet you I’m bigger than Dean.”

Fuck it. He was hard and horny and inches away from the angel who was driving him crazy. To hell with subtlety.

“Sam!” Castiel flicked away the last of the shaving foam; he threw the razor into the sink. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Sam reached down and squeezed his erection through his shorts. “Okay. But I thought _you_ might want to hold it. Just, you know, by the way you were sizing it up.”

Castiel shut his eyes and grimaced. He looked like he was gathering his willpower, and Sam let go of his cock. He faltered. What had happened to showing Castiel respect?

“Cass—Cass, I’m sorry.” Sam took a deep breath, shook his head. “If I got the wrong signals, if I’m making you uncomfortable—my head’s just messed up right now. Tell me to knock it off, and I will.”

Castiel opened his eyes. His expression had softened, but his posture was still cautious.

“Sam, what is this? Why are you propositioning me?”

Sam shrugged. Honestly, he couldn’t answer that question with much certainty.

“That _is_ what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. You’re an attractive guy.”

Castiel sighed. “We don’t have time for this. We should be looking for Dean. I’m surprised at you, Sam.”

“Why?” Sam glared at him. “What’s so surprising? The fact that I’m not a robot who spends every waking moment looking for my dead brother? The fact that I have any sexual urges whatsoever? The fact that I can see how hot you are? The fact that, unlike my brother, I know what I want?"

“I’m not listening to any more of this,” Castiel said. He pushed past Sam.

Sam whipped around. “Cass, wait. What did I do that was so wrong? Tell you that I like you? That I want you? Get turned on by your touch? What?”

“It’s not that, Sam. I’m not offended.” Castiel leaned against the doorway and looked back at him. “If anything, I’m flattered. But I need to leave before you do something you regret. Before we both do.”

Sam inhaled sharply. He walked towards the doorway, and Castiel watched him warily.

“I wouldn’t regret it,” Sam said. He stood a respectful distance away, his head lowered in submission. “Cass, I could never regret doing anything with you. I admire you so, so much. Maybe I feel more than that—I don’t know, it’s complicated. And I know you’ve always liked Dean more—”

“It isn’t as simple as me ‘liking him more.’”

“—But Cass, Dean’s gone. He’s gone, okay? And I’ll find his body and bring it home and give it a proper funeral, but he’s gone. And the two of us are still here.”

Castiel shook his head. “Neither of us is in the right frame of mind, Sam. Grief—it makes people do extreme things. Just to stop the hurting.”

“Cass.” Sam took another step forward, and Castiel didn’t shrink back. “Please. Just give me a chance to prove to you that I want this. If you want to leave, you can. Any time. I won’t stop you.”

“Sam,” Castiel sighed. “It wouldn’t be right. I promised Dean I’d always protect you.”

“You’d be more than protecting me. You’d be helping me.” Sam grasped Castiel’s hand and brought it to his tattoo. “You want to help me, right, Cass? That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes, but—”

“Shh.” Sam dragged Castiel’s palm down the valley of his chest, over the ripples of his abdomen. He stopped at his navel and waited for Castiel to raise his eyes again. When he did, Sam fixed him with his best heavy-lidded, parted-lip, furrowed-brow smolder. Castiel gulped.

 _Oh, yes,_ Sam thought triumphantly. He’d know that reaction anywhere. _Not so stoic now, are you?_

“Sam, we shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Sam cooed. Their hands started traveling together again, down the thin trail of hair that vanished into the elastic waistband of his workout shorts. Sam stroked the edge of Castiel’s hand with his thumbnail.

Castiel tensed up. “Dean wouldn’t want—”

“Dean isn’t here,” Sam growled. “Dean never has to know.”

It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he was far past caring. Why did he always have to be the good brother? The responsible brother? The one who studiously respected boundaries, who turned down every chance he had to have some fun? The one who stood in the background and watched Dean charm the pants off everyone he set his sights on?

Not this time. No more denying himself. After months of anguish, he’d reached his breaking point. He’d given Castiel the chance to leave and he was still standing there, letting Sam bring him closer and closer to his cock. Sam was going to have what he wanted.

“Please, Cass.” Sam gave him his best puppy dog eyes. “You’d be taking care of me. You want to take care of me, right? You told Dean you’d always take care of me, didn’t you? You said you promised him you would.”

He felt filthy. Maybe he was still the spoiled younger brother, demanding that Dean give him the toy in the cereal box that he knew Dean wanted. Stealing the toy out of Dean’s hands as he slept, exhausted, at the end of a long day of looking after him. And if Castiel were that toy today, well. He could ask for forgiveness tomorrow. He had experience at that.

Sam coaxed Castiel’s fingers into his waistband. Castiel brushed against the root of his cock, and Sam shivered.

“Sam, this isn’t what you want. You’re grieving Dean; you’re lonely and depressed and overwhelmed. And all you want is some escape from that. You don’t want me—not really. You’re just latching onto me because I’m a reminder of Dean.”

Sam licked his lips. He seized Castiel’s hand and wrapped it around his cock, which pulsed and jerked at the joyous moment of contact.

“Does that feel like I don’t know what I want to you?”

Castiel exhaled long and slow. His hand squeezed tentatively, and he leaned into Sam’s chest.

“Sam,” Castiel groaned softly. “Oh, Sam.”

“Don’t overthink this. It can mean as much or as little as we want. Whatever you want, Cass, I’ll go with it. Let’s just do what feels good and worry about everything else after.”

Castiel seemed to consider this. He creeped his fingers experimentally up Sam’s length. Sam, leaving him to his own devices, extricated his hand from his underwear and brushed over the front of Castiel’s slacks. He was stiff, and Sam grinned at their joined shadows in the hallway, celebrating his victory.

“You want this too,” Sam said. “I can tell. Why deny it?”

“What I want isn’t the point.”

“It can be, Cass. It can be.” Sam bent down and pecked soft, chaste kisses to Castiel’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, the Cupid’s bow of his lips. He pressed his forehead into Castiel’s and breathed in his air. “We can take care of each other. I think we both need that right now.”

“Alright, Sam,” Castiel said, after a long pause. “Tell me how to take care of you.”

He tapped his fingers along Sam’s shaft but didn’t move otherwise, and Sam wondered whether this was the first hard cock he’d ever touched, including his own. Surely he’d jacked off when he was human?

“Um,” Sam said. “I was thinking—hoping—you’d give me a hand job?”

Castiel looked at him in bewilderment.

“You just hold my dick and stroke up and down,” Sam explained. God, this was cringy.

“Okay,” Castiel said evenly, as if Sam had just described the proper operation of a washing machine. “Oh. Sam, I forgot.”

Castiel made his way back to the vanity, keeping hold of Sam’s erection the entire way. Sam followed him dutifully. Not like he had much choice.

 _I’m literally being led around by my dick,_ Sam thought, with a wry look in the mirror.

“The aftershave,” Castiel said, finally releasing Sam to uncap the mint-green glass bottle. “The last step. I forgot to put it on you.”

“You kind of more stormed out than forgot,” Sam teased.

“I suppose I did. Do I just rub this on you?”

 _God, yes._ Right now, he wanted Castiel to dump the entire bottle on his prone body and rub it into every pore.

“I usually just drizzle out a small amount, rub it between my palms, and spread it over my face,” Sam managed to say.

Castiel wiped off Sam’s face with a damp towel, then shook out a few droplets of aftershave.

“It’s a strong smell.”

“Yeah. Um, a little goes a long way.”

Castiel beckoned to him, and Sam bent forward. His touch was supple and soothing—cool aloe from the aftershave, warm pressure from his fingertips. Sam closed his eyes and melted into his hands.

“Better?” Castiel said. He returned the aftershave to Sam’s medicine cabinet.

“So much better. You’re taking good care of me, Cass.”

Castiel nodded once at Sam’s crotch. “Do you still want me to put my hands on you?”

Damn. Why did such a stilted question sound so good when it came from Castiel’s lips?

“Yes,” Sam said breathily. “I need you.”

Castiel nodded again. He reached down—mechanically, almost—and palmed Sam’s length through his shorts. He averted his eyes when Sam looked up.

Sam frowned. He wanted Castiel to enjoy this. To the extent that an interdimensional wavelength with no erotic drive had the capacity to enjoy it, at least.

“Cass.” Sam grabbed Castiel’s free hand with his and brought it to his bare chest. “You can touch me all over. Anywhere you want. I’m all yours.”

Castiel seemed to respond to that. He slid his hand along Sam’s sweat-slicked shoulder, clinched fistfuls of his upper arm, caressed the curve of his pectoral.

“So solid.” Castiel flicked his thumb over Sam’s nipple. “So strong.”

Sam’s knees buckled. “Cass!”

“Sensitive?” Castiel said, sounding concerned. He pulled away.

“Very.” Sam brought Castiel’s hand back to his galloping heart. “In a good way.”

Castiel dug his fingernails into the skin of Sam’s chest, hard enough for it to smart. Sam quivered with the sinful fantasy of Castiel marking him all over with his nails and teeth. Maybe in other ways. Sam was sure there were other ways.

He wouldn’t last much longer. His boxer briefs were sopping wet with precome. This was torture.

“Cass,” Sam moaned. “Will you give me a hand job now?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

“Not exactly. Um, I should be naked, for one. And we need lube.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“I don’t have a foreskin,” Sam explained. “So I need a sort of slippery fluid to masturbate. Or when someone else gives me a hand. So it doesn’t chafe.”

Castiel seemed to think for a split-second. Then, he retrieved the shaving cream from the cabinet and held it out. Sam’s cock twitched.

 _Shit._ The instant Castiel produced the can, Sam knew the shaving cream was going on his cock. No way in hell would he crush Castiel’s attempt to take the initiative. Castiel didn’t have to know that Sam had been referring to the bottle of lube in his bedroom.

Besides, an angel whacking him off with shaving cream would be a unique experience. Fairly adventurous, by the standards of his prim sexual history. He and Jess used to think spicing things up was leaving the lights on.

“Good job, Cass,” Sam said. “Resourceful as always.”

For the first time since Sam had made his move, Castiel smiled. “You mentioned being naked.”

“Yeah. Let me—"

Sam looked around for a place to sit. His eyes settled on the white enamel bathtub at the center of the bathroom, rising from the tile floor like a statue’s pedestal. That would do.

“Come here.” Sam sat on the bathtub’s lip and gazed up at Castiel. “Can you pull off my shorts? It’ll be faster than me doing it one-handed.”

Castiel handed Sam the shaving cream and brought his hands to Sam’s hips. He jerked down his shorts and underwear. Sam’s cock sprang free and hit his belly with a lewd thwack, and Castiel paused his movements to stare.

“I’m so hard,” Sam purred. He touched the bead of precome at his slit, teased it up into a sticky, clear string, smeared it over his engorged head. “Look what you’ve done to me, Cass.”

Castiel swallowed. He finished easing Sam’s clothes past his calves, and they pooled around his ankles.

“That’s good.” Sam returned the shaving cream to Castiel. He patted the tub beside him.

“Should I just—” Castiel sat down on Sam’s right and sprayed the can into his hand.

“Yeah, just put it on me.”

Castiel made a fist around the base of Sam’s cock. The shaving cream made a squelching sound as it dribbled through his fingers. Sam gasped, threw his head back, and clutched the bathtub rim for purchase.

“Start stroking,” Sam said, as he blinked up at the bright lights. He felt dizzy. God, Castiel’s grip was tight.

That thought brought Dean to mind again, the first words Castiel had spoken to Dean, the unspoken truth that Castiel was Dean’s, once and forever. None of that was what he wanted in his head as Castiel slowly dragged his sublime, sacred hand up and down Sam’s skyward-pointing cock.

“Sam? Is this good?”

“So good,” Sam whimpered. The shaving cream tingled the hot skin of his shaft. “So fucking good.”

Castiel huffed a warm breath over the rise of Sam’s shoulder. Sam looked down at him.

“How about you, Cass? You good?”

“Yeah. I—” Castiel kissed Sam’s neck. “Sam, I just want to make you feel better. I want to take care of you.”

Goddamn. That kiss. That devotion. If Sam wasn’t careful, he’d end up falling in love before Castiel even finished him off.

“Cass, I’d—” Sam jolted as Castiel’s little finger caught on the flare of his glans. “I’d reciprocate, but my good hand can’t really reach you.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “It’s fine, Sam. It isn’t necessary.”

“No, Cass, I want to. I want to make you feel good too. After.” Sam’s breath hitched; he was getting close. “After.”

Maybe he was imagining things, but Sam thought Castiel’s pace quickened once he said that.

“Cass, I’m close.” Sam tipped his head back again. “Let me hear your voice. Your deep, sexy voice.”

“My voice?”

“Tell me how you admire my body. How it’s a work of art.”

“You’re gorgeous, Sam Winchester. You’re magnificent.” Castiel showered his injured arm with kisses. “You could tempt any angel to fall, just so he could be where I am right now.”

“Cass!” Sam cried out. “Fuck, Cass!”

There was the loud buzzing of blood in his ears. The light fixtures on the ceiling blurred into one heavenly flash. His legs trembled, his hips jerked, and he stared down at his angry red cock with wide eyes. He came in thick, heavy spurts that plopped onto his thighs and splattered loudly on the bathroom’s tiles.

Sam panted. He laughed inwardly. _Any angel but you. The one who only has eyes for my brother._

Castiel released his death grip on Sam’s cock. Shaving cream and Sam’s semen dripped from his fingers, and he wiped himself off on Sam’s leg.

“That was—” Sam’s breaths were still catching up. “Without a doubt, the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

He stood, but Sam grabbed his hand. Castiel turned back to him in confusion.

“It’s your turn now.”

“Sam, please don’t feel obligated.”

Sam yanked his arm, and Castiel was the one who obliged him. Sam positioned Castiel between his spread legs—he’d kicked off the shorts around his feet at some point during his frenzy—and gazed up at him like a supplicant at the feet of his god.

“Cass, I want to blow you.”

“You mean—” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Sam’s lips. So he knew what that meant, at least.

“Yeah. Take you in my mouth.” Sam thumbed Castiel’s belt buckle. “You’ve been hard all this time. You must be going crazy.”

“Sam, regardless of how my body—my vessel—reacts, I don’t have needs as you do. You don’t have to—”

“Cass, I _want_ to. I’m attracted to you. I thought that much was obvious by now. You’ll be making me feel good. All I want to know is whether you want it too.”

Castiel exhaled. “I do.”

That was all Sam needed to hear. He undid Castiel’s buckle; his belt fell open. Sam unbuttoned him, pulled his zipper down, and tugged his slacks down his pale, hairy thighs. It was all surprisingly easy to do with one hand. Maybe he was just determined.

Only Castiel’s bright white boxers, bulging and wet at the front, stood between Sam and his prize. Sam licked his lips and tore them down, hard enough that Castiel swayed. His cock pointed straight ahead, stiff and proud. Sam let his jaw go slack as he brought his lips around the thick, maroon head.

It was his first taste of cock. He’d let a couple guys blow him back at Stanford, but his experimenting hadn’t gone any further than that. Now, though, he regretted not trying it sooner. Something about filling inch after inch of his mouth with cock, feeling the precome oozing onto his tongue, hearing the hissed praise of the man above him, made him deliriously happy.

Or maybe it was just the guy—angel—attached to it.

“Feels good, Sam,” Castiel grunted. “Feels wonderful.”

Sam craned his neck forward until he felt the back of his throat tingle. He hollowed his cheeks and peeked up at Castiel, who stroked the back of Sam’s head tenderly as he returned his gaze.

God, he loved being filled. Warmed from the inside. He was starting to wonder about what Castiel had said at the start of all this, the thing that had set off this entire crazy chain of events. _I’ll bend you over._

Sam groaned around Castiel’s cock. Maybe he’d completely lost his mind, but he’d let him. Shit, he’d beg him.

“Sam, oh Sam.” Castiel ran his fingers through Sam’s hair from part to ends. “Such terrible, vicious beauty. Burning brilliantly like the morning star.”

Sam smirked. Did that count as babbling? He felt a covetous pride at taking Castiel apart like this, at making him feel safe enough to fall apart. At being his real, true first time—not the defilement he’d endured at the hands of a Reaper.

As if to mark his conquest, he dug his nails into the smooth, toned rise of Castiel’s ass. He raked down, then eased his fingers into the hot, hairy crevice between his cheeks. Castiel howled and bucked his hips when Sam scraped against his pristine hole.

 _Bet she never touched you there_ , Sam thought, as he stared up at Castiel’s blissed-out, glazed-over eyes.

God, but he was going to Hell. Debauching an angel like this probably bought you an express ticket.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Castiel chanted.

Sam pulled back, swirled around the broad, blunt head. He dipped the tip of his tongue into Castiel’s slit, and a gush of precome flooded out. Castiel screamed his name, and Sam could swear he heard a thunderclap somewhere in the distance.

“I’m—Sam, I’m—”

Sam released Castiel with an obscene pop. He pumped his cock with his good hand. “Come on my face, Cass.”

“On your—”

“Paint my face with your come, Cass. I want you to ruin me.”

Castiel gasped. “Sam!”

Sam closed his eyes just in time. Castiel came in hot splashes over Sam’s forehead, eyelids, swollen lips. He kept spraying—it had to be longer than even the most prolific human—and there was so much of it that Sam felt like his head was being held underwater. It was like being baptized.

“Oh, Sam.” Castiel was wiping his come away from Sam’s face. Sam blinked his eyes open.

“Feed it to me,” Sam demanded. “I want to taste you.”

Castiel indulged him. He plunged his index and middle fingers into Sam’s mouth, and Sam licked him clean.

 _Holy shit_ , Sam thought, as he gulped down Castiel’s bitter, metallic seed. _I just swallowed angel babies._

Yup. He was definitely going to Hell.

“Sam, that was….” Castiel looked down at his deflating cock. “Well, it’s fairly clear that I enjoyed it.”

Sam snorted. “Me too, Cass.”

Castiel cast his gaze around the bathroom. Sam had seen him uncomfortable before, but this was the first time he’d seen him look nervous.

“Like I said, Cass, this can mean as much or as little as you want. It’s up to you. If you want to forget it ever happened—” Sam shrugged. “I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll deal. I always do.”

Castiel nodded. He pulled up his pants and fastened his belt again. Aside from the wrinkles in his slacks and the one shirttail dangling free, he looked as if nothing had happened.

“Well, I better take a bath,” Sam said. He pushed himself up from the bathtub lip. The lights seemed too bright, and he felt unsteady.

“I’ll help you,” Castiel said.

“Cass, it’s okay. You don’t have to. I already made you stay way longer than you intended.”

“I’ll help you,” Castiel repeated, his voice low and gruff.

Sam smiled. It was something. Maybe Castiel didn’t completely regret it.

He ran the water while Castiel collected his toiletries from his shelf. Castiel set them down beside the tub. He wet a washcloth under the hot water faucet, squeezed some of the face cleanser onto it, and walked up to Sam.

“Here,” was all Castiel said before he started wiping and rubbing Sam’s face clean. He cleaned one side, rinsed and wrung out and dabbed more cleanser onto the washcloth, and cleaned the other. He caressed Sam’s jawline, and Sam complimented him on the closeness of his shave. By the time Sam’s face was refreshed, the tub had finished filling.

“Thank you, Cass,” Sam said. He hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a soft, quick kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“Well, it was my mess.”

Sam laughed. He swung one foot into the tub, then the other. The water was on the cool side of lukewarm, which was a necessity given the heat aboveground. He eased himself down and dangled his bad arm over the side.

“I always take showers, but ever since I broke my arm, I can only take baths. Cast can’t get wet.”

“Ah.” Castiel crouched down beside the tub; he handed Sam his soap.

“They’re actually kind of nice,” Sam said. “Nice way to unwind after a long day.”

He washed his neck first, then cupped handfuls of bathwater onto the lather to rinse off. It was a slow process. It gave him time to think. That wasn’t always a good thing.

“Dean would make fun of you,” Castiel said. “He thinks baths are for women.”

“Oh, not just that. He’d make fun of me for getting my arm broken by a garden-variety demon in the first place.”

They laughed. It was still strange to hear Castiel laugh. Sam thought that was the best thing that had come out of his brief, disastrous time as a human—his understanding of and appreciation for the many uses of laughter. This laugh—it was a wistful laugh. A laugh of longing. Of shared pain and shared purpose.

“I think I’ll get going,” Castiel said. “I have things to do, and you have your hunt for Dean.”

Sam stared at the open bathroom door, the silent hallway. He let go of his bar of soap. It sank to the bottom.

“We’ll find him,” Castiel said. “It’s like I said. We just have to have faith.”

Sam turned to look at Castiel. He was still squatting beside the tub, waiting. But for what?

“Stay,” Sam said. His heart was racing, but his voice came out clear and strong. “You can just stay here now. I don’t know why you won’t.”

“I shouldn’t.” Castiel averted his eyes. “For a few reasons.”

Sam swallowed. He lifted his arm from the water and took Castiel’s hand. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed.

“Please stay,” Sam whispered. “Please. Even just until tomorrow. I’m struggling.”

Castiel hung his head. “Very well. I’ll stay until tomorrow.”

Sam squeezed his hand. Castiel looked into his eyes, brought his other hand to the side of Sam’s head, and slicked the stray locks of hair behind his ear. He leaned in on the balls of his feet and rested his forehead against Sam’s.

“Thank you, Cass.”

Castiel nodded. His thumb stroked back and forth along the smooth skin of Sam’s jaw.

“I’ll always take care of you, Sam.”

Castiel’s words were warm on Sam’s lips, his hand solid in Sam’s hand. For the first time in months, Sam felt something like hope. Maybe he was finally turning a corner.


End file.
